Sweating under the weight of the beams, he — early 20s, t-shirt and sneakers — turned and asked, “Do we try and make it?” A red hand flashed. The woman among them, also the oldest, urged him on. They had hustled across the intersection when her clear soprano gently pleaded: Were you there when they crucified my Lord? The key established, the other three joined in harmony, their questions echoing out from beneath the scaffolding. They hurried towards an invisible Golgotha.